“Joey Baranski,” Nik told me by way of introduction. “Best hands in Manhattan. Tattooed my right ribcage a few weeks ago. Remind me never to let you do script on a cracked rib again.”
Joey barked a laugh. “That wasn’tmyidea, Volkov. You’re the one who wanted a little lamb across your lungs.”
My attention snapped from Joey to Nik.
Nik smirked, then pulled up something on his phone and handed it over. Joey looked at it, whistled low under his breath, and nodded.
“Give me five. Room two.” With that, he disappeared down the hallway.
I turned to Nik slowly. “Wait. Areyougetting a tattoo? Is this some kind of wedding ritual I’ve never heard of?”
His eyes glittered. “Something like that.”
When Joey called us back, Nik guided me through the narrow corridor and into a room glowing with high-powered LED lights. It smelled of alcohol wipes and antiseptic.
I paused.
Nik didn’t.
He lifted my left hand with reverence and slid the platinum ring from my finger.
“Hey—”
“Relax.” He moved it to my right hand. “You’ll get to move it back in a few days. Once it heals.”
He kissed the top of my hand, then offered it to Joey like he was handing over something precious.
It took me a second to realize what was happening.
“Wait, I—I’mgetting the tattoo?”
“You’re mine now,” Nik said simply. “And I don’t do temporary.”
I could barely feel the cool swipe of alcohol over my ring finger. My entire body was numb, shell-shocked, still reeling from the wedding, from the kiss, from everything.
Then the buzzing started.
Joey leaned in. “Don’t move.”
The drone of the machine vibrated through me as a fine cluster of needles sank into my skin, and I flinched—but only for a moment. The pain wasn’t sharp, more like a slow burn…a dragging ache. My pulse slowed as the machine continued to hum.
I watched, transfixed, as a crown formed—a delicate black band encircling the base of my finger like something plucked from a storybook. It was dainty, with intricate points twined in rope-like detail. Encircled by the crown were two interlocking initials—V and O. Volkov and Oakley, forever fused, Nik explained.
Just when I thought he was finished, Joey turned my hand and shifted my finger gently. He said in a low voice, “This part’s going to suck.”
He positioned the needle at the inner base of my finger and started again.
The pain became searing, traveling up to my knuckle. My throat tightened. My eyes stung.
Nik stepped close, watching me like a hawk. When I swayed, he caught my chin, tilted it up, and kissed me.
Hard and deep.
A distraction. A reward.
He pulled back just as Joey finished.
When my eyes stopped watering enough for me to see, I made out the words:Till Death Us Do Part.
